A Battle (Part Two)

 

 

The warriors met sword-to-sword on the mounded plateau; each contact an explosion of lightning and thunder inside the angry faces suspended high in the gathering storm clouds. Both men came at the other with mad vigor, hungry for victory, turning round and round in their wild dance of the sword.

 

As both began strong, both were weakened as the fight wore on. Silas tired under the dark knight's constant ambush, as the knight himself felt the ever-pressing weakness under the Syv'Awendale's hot light.

 

Melanion quickly grew frustrated. He drew on all his power and gave a heavy thrust to his opponent, a brisk slash at his enemy. And Silas was not quick enough, did not anticipate such a rush of strength.

 

The knight had cut the Sword of Syv'Awendale free.

 

He gasped in shock. He stared, not comprehending, at the bloody remnant of his hand. Fingers - his precious limbs - were splayed broken glass over the ground around his sword.

 

He tried for the sword, reaching desperately for the blade. But his knees gave out as he fell to the ground, his remaining hand a breath from the hilt. The knight stepped closer, menacing eyes starkly beaming red from within the darkness of his face.

 

 

...There was an armored Knight standing in the black rain, staring at him knowingly from above, sword in hand...Was it death?...

 

 

Melanion raised an opened fist, clenching it above his enemy as if fingering out a candle. Darkness infringed around Silas' mind, hellish shadow dancing in his fading vision. He closed his eyes, fighting against the agonizing pain. He yelled aloud, pushing against the pressing nightmares binding him tighter and tighter.

 

"Aya!" he called through the hurt. He saw no face, heard no answer. Some dark poison, the knight's wicked curse, shredded him with that sword of black, bled from him his life, his will, his love.

 

"You are so stupid. Just like the rest of the foolish mortal men," came the dark, cynical voice, clear and sharp. It pierced his head and tore at his memories, isolating him from all hope.

 

 

...There was an armored Knight standing in the black rain, staring at him knowingly from above, the Syv'Awendale Sword at his feet. As Silas' faith faded, the sword waned. With an easy flick, the knight cast a dark blanket to completely extinguish the light, and toss its Wielder into a featureless abyss of dungeon.

 

The End

35 comments about this story Feed